


in the crooks of your body i find my religion

by hihoplastic



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, First Time, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Praise Kink, Seriously don't even bother it's just porn, Vibrators, looking for plot in all the wrong places
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 21:19:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15324567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihoplastic/pseuds/hihoplastic
Summary: Pippa can’t stop staring at Hecate’s neck. There’s a strand of hair that’s fallen loose from her bun just behind her ear, and Hecate hasn’t noticed. She’s distracted, leaning over the lavender sprigs in Pentangle’s botanical garden, muttering something about an efficient use of funding and adequate supplies for upper year potions coursework. Pippa barely hears her.





	in the crooks of your body i find my religion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [universe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/universe/gifts).



> \- This is entirely Isa's fault.  
> \- Title from Sappho

Pippa can’t stop staring at Hecate’s neck. 

There’s a strand of hair that’s fallen loose from her bun just behind her ear, and Hecate hasn’t noticed. She’s distracted, leaning over the lavender sprigs in Pentangle’s botanical garden, muttering something about an efficient use of funding and adequate supplies for upper year potions coursework. 

Pippa barely hears her.She tries to pay attention, but her eyes keep drifting to the small wave, and she thinks about touching it. About what Hecate’s skin feels like. She’s only ever gotten to brush her cheek with her lips, hasn’t even held her hand, and her fingertips tingle at the thought. 

She knows she shouldn’t think such things. 

Knows that Hecate is her friend (she can say that, at least, after thirty years), will probably remain her friend and nothing more. 

Most of the time she’s content with that. Accepts the longing that pulls at her chest every time Hecate smiles, so fleeting and rare. Recognizes that her heart will probably always skip a beat when Hecate calls, that her nerves will always rattle when Hecate says her name. 

She can handle that. Will gladly endure the slight pain it causes to be with her; she doesn’t think she could bear to lose her again. 

Fortunately, that hasn’t seemed likely as of late. 

They’ve been spending more time together, on weekends and the occasional weeknight dinner or game of chess. 

Pippa takes every excuse she can think of to come to Cackle’s, and even Hecate has been “in the neighborhood” of Pentangle’s twice in the last two months. 

She’d arrived today as scheduled—a ritual last Sunday of the month brunch—and accepted the customary kiss Pippa pressed to her cheek. Today, she’d curled her hand around Pippa’s upper arm, squeezing lightly before letting go, and Pippa had tried to pretend the simple, innocent touch didn’t burn through her clothes. 

Instead of going straight to lunch—she wasn’t certain she could be alone with Hecate right then, without making a mistake—Pippa had detoured them to the new greenhouse, knowing Hecate would want to see it. 

She’s proud of it, of the work her students put in to creating it, of the grant she got to move forward with it. But more than that, she’s proud that Hecate seems proud. 

She’d looked around, examined nearly every plant, its location, the type of soil, the tools, and declared it all “above board.” 

Pippa had laughed, and Hecate had startled, but settled her shoulders quickly and offered a half-smile. 

She’d meant for them to leave, but Hecate has stopped at least three times to comment on a plant or flower, occasionally touching Pippa’s arm briefly to hold her back, and now, with her face in profile, pressed close to the lavenders, Pippa takes a moment to stare, to let her eyes wander, to feel the things she tries not to feel in Hecate’s presence. 

Fondness.

Desire.

Lust.

Love. 

It’s the last one she struggles with the most, in the early hours of the morning when she can’t sleep, tosses and turns and thinks about how so much of her life has been shaped by Hecate in one way or another. Or rather, how her love for Hecate has shaped things. Good and bad. 

Her eyes trail over the strand of hair, over Hecate’s ears (they’re cute, she decides, and feels embarrassed for the thought), her cheekbones, sharp and prominent, her nose. 

She loves her nose. 

Loves the startled face Hecate makes every time she taps it (she’s only been brave enough three times, twice in private). 

She stares at her lips, moving, but Pippa can’t really take in the words, just the shape of her mouth, the way the little lines crease when she smiles. She wonders if Hecate’s lips are smooth or chapped, wonders if they’re soft, wonders what she kisses like—if she takes her time. If she’s rough. If she’s demanding or demure or restrained or passionate. 

Wonders what it would be like to kiss her, even just once. 

She’s come close so many times, only her heart catching her, pulling her back from the edge. 

She thinks now might be one of those moments, because her eyes flicker up just as Hecate turns her head, their eyes meeting. 

Hecate inhales sharply, clears her throat and looks away. “Shall we go inside?” 

Pippa nods, and pastes on her brightest smile, the one at least half true. 

She loves Hecate’s visits, loves their conversations, loves their arguments, loves even the silences that stretch as they drink their tea, each absorbed in something else: Hecate, usually a book; Pippa, usually, staring at Hecate. 

Her eyes catch on the wisp of hair again as Hecate slips past her, and Pippa tries not to groan as their bodies brush, however briefly.

It’s days like this Pippa wishes she had Hecate’s discipline. Wishes she could push everything she feels to a corner of her mind to be dealt with later. Preferably much, much later, when she’s alone. 

Instead, her heart thumps out of time when Hecate half smiles at her. She offers to transfer them, but Pippa enjoys the walk, and Hecate nods, then hesitates, arm moving awkwardly away from her body before it resettles, and she shakes her head minutely. 

If Pippa didn’t know any better, she’d think Hecate was intentionally torturing her. 

But she does know better. Knows Hecate doesn’t feel the same way abut her, and even if she did it’s doubtful she’d play games. And yet, she stays close as they walk, closer than she usually does. It doesn’t seem deliberate, and when she accidentally sways into Pippa’s space, she immediately jerks away, putting her customary distance between them. 

It’s a bright day, sunny but still cool, and she asks after Hecate’s girls, after Mildred, after Ada. Things seem to have calmed down at Cackle’s since Halloween. Since the school froze. 

Since Hecate froze. 

Pippa still thinks about it, still has nightmares about it, and she knows the same is true for Hecate. They haven’t spoken much about it, but sometimes she’ll catch Hecate staring off into the distance, catch her shivering for no reason at all. 

It’s those days that she tries to be a little more affectionate. Touches Hecate a little more than she would normally dare. Holds her in a hug a little too long. 

So far, if Hecate has noticed, she hasn’t said anything. Hasn’t pushed Pippa away, and she’s grateful. Isn’t sure her heart could take it, after everything. 

Hecate’s filling her in on Mildred’s latest antics when she feels one of the cobblestones come lose, feels her ankle twist. It isn’t bad, doesn’t hurt, and she barely has time to stumble before Hecate has her hands on both her arms, holding her steady. 

“Are you alright?” 

Pippa nods, glaring down at her offending heel. “Just a bit off balance.”

She looks up, finds herself so much closer than she expected. Hecate’s chest is pressed to hers, their faces inches apart, and Pippa swallows. Her eyes flicker to the strand of hair behind her ear, and she has the overwhelming urge to touch it, to skid her fingers along Hecate’s neck, to slip beneath the collar of her blue lace dress and tug it aside, press her lips to her skin—

Her eyes dart back to Hecate’s, and she involuntarily licks her lips. Hecate’s eyes follow the motion, and Pippa thinks, _maybe_ —

Hecate jerks back, lets go of Pippa as if burned, and Pippa’s stomach drops. 

Hecate clears her throat, hands balled into fists at her sides as she looks off to the side, toward the castle. 

“Your rooms, as usual?” she asks. 

Pippa nods, and Hecate lifts a hand, and for a blissful moment, she feels nothing at all. 

They reappear in her chambers, near the living room table, currently covered in sweets and savory items. 

Hecate sits and Pippa follows suit and after a quip about the number of pastries and a jab at Hecate’s terrible tastebuds, the air relaxes. 

They talk about a bit of everything, continuing their disagreement on traditionalism in politics from last week, commenting on the latest mega pop star in the witching world (Hecate has no idea who it is, Pippa has unfortunately memorized no less than three songs due to her students).  


Hecate tells her about her trip to Spain decades ago, the ruins she saw there. Pippa almost makes her laugh with an outlandish and exaggerated story about her last conference in Edinburgh. 

There’s so much to catch up on, so much to talk about, and Pippa does her best to ignore the question rattling around in her head each and every time. The same question, over and over. 

_Why did you leave me?_

She doesn’t dare ask. Doesn’t want to see the relaxed smile slip from Hecate’s lips. Doesn’t want the past to weigh them down. 

It’s been present in every conversation, on the tip of her tongue, but lately, she’s noticed, there’s something louder, something vying for her attention, a different question, and perhaps a far more dangerous one. 

She’s already forgiven Hecate for leaving. Whatever reason she has, it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t change anything. 

But if she told her how she feels, how she’s always felt, Pippa knows, it would change everything. Would drive Hecate away, most likely. Would ruin their friendship. 

Ruin everything. 

And yet. It doesn’t stop her eyes from following the line of Hecate’s wrist as she pours them a new cup of tea by hand. Her eyes are drawn to her long fingers, her sharp nails. 

She thinks about them digging into her thighs, thinks about the scratches they’d leave on her back. 

Pippa shudders and rips her gaze away. 

Hecate doesn’t notice. 

Never seems to notice anything, and Pippa isn’t sure if it’s a saving grace or a torment. 

Today, it feels like the latter. 

Her clothes feel too tight, too warm, and there’s a heat simmering in her belly that started the moment Hecate arrived. It’s almost always there when she thinks of Hecate, but usually it’s manageable. 

Today it’s been amplified, by light, barely there touches. They have no meaning, Pippa knows, and they’re innocent, but they make her _want_. 

Want more. 

Want everything. 

Want _Hecate._

She hates her reaction sometimes—hates that she turns Hecate’s desire for platonic physical affection into something else. Hecate deserves better than that, but some days, she can’t help herself. 

Normally the hours fly by, but the afternoon seems to pass in a slow haze. Pippa keeps getting distracted—by Hecate’s hands, by Hecate’s lips, by Hecate’s knees beneath the thick fabric of her dress. It’s ridiculous, and she feels horrible when Hecate begs off two hours early. 

“I should head back before it gets dark,” she says, though it won’t be dark for another six hours. 

“Hecate—“

“You seem…distracted,” Hecate says. “I don’t want to take up your time—”

“You aren’t,” Pippa says, stopping her near the door. “I promise, I’m sorry, I just…” She sighs, and supposes something akin to honesty is best. “I have been a bit distracted. I apologize.”

Hecate frowns, and she reaches for Pippa, almost touches her arm before her fingers curl back into her palm. “Is everything alright?” 

Pippa nods, smiles reassuringly. “Everything’s fine, darling.”

Hecate inhales sharply, and Pippa wonders if she doesn’t like the endearment. If she finds it frivolous or saccharine. 

She doesn’t say anything, but she looks unconvinced, and Pippa rests a hand on her arm, can’t resist brushing her thumb back and forth over the lace. 

“I promise. I’m just a bit tired, I think. I didn’t sleep well last night. A one time thing,” she says before Hecate can comment. “I’m sure I’ll be fine tonight.”

Hecate purses her lips for a moment, then says, “Valerian root. Steep it in your tea for twenty minutes. If you feel dizzy—”

Pippa places both hands on Hecate’s arms. “I’m fine, Hiccup. I swear.”

Hecate stares at her, eyes flickering over her face, as if assessing her honesty before she nods. 

“Alright. But you’ll call if you need anything.”

It isn’t a question, and Pippa smiles at the tender command. “I will.” 

“Good.” 

Hecate steps back and looks toward the door. “I really should be going.”

“Are you sure?”

She nods, but when she looks back she doesn’t seem upset, doesn’t seem angry. “I—I’m—” She furrows her brow in a way that makes Pippa want to kiss the center of her forehead. “I’ll see you next Wednesday?”

There’s a nervous tinge to her voice, as if her leaving early now would change their plans. 

Pippa nods—“Of course.”—and Hecate offers her a half-smile before summoning her broom and hat. She hesitates, then leans forward and busses her lips against Pippa’s cheek. 

Pippa freezes, stunned by the press of Hecate so close, and then gone so quickly.

Her cheek burns and Hecate’s cheeks flush and she looks away, mutters a hasty goodbye and before Pippa can say anything, disappears.

She thinks about going after her, but she’d looked faintly panicked, and Pippa isn’t sure if it’s because she hadn’t meant it the way Pippa had clearly taken it, or...

She doesn’t think her heart could handle either right now, so she takes a deep, shuddering breath and tries to even her breathing into something steady. 

It takes several minutes, minutes she passes in the silence of her room, the ghost of Hecate’s lips on her skin. 

—

She’s distracted the rest of the day. Tries to work on budget reports and curriculum updates and answer messages but it’s useless. All she can think about is Hecate. 

Hecate’s hands and Hecate’s lips and Hecate’s warmth. Hecate’s crooked smile and her restrained laugh and her eyes, drawing her in. 

She gives up after a few hours, retires to her room. 

She tries reading, tries cleaning, even tries to distract herself with sweets. 

Because she can’t give in. Can’t think of Hecate that way, though she has in the past. Can’t, not now that they’re friends. Now that Hecate trusts her. 

She doesn’t think Hecate would take too kindly to being fuel for her fantasies. 

She waits until the sun sets, until well after her usual bed time before she dares lay down. She is tired, at least, and hopes she can sleep. Hopes it’ll be dreamless. 

Instead, she tosses and turns and every time she closes her eyes she sees Hecate. Every time she shifts, the sheets on her bare legs feel like hands, caressing. 

She’s too wired, too wound up, flushed all over and she tears off her sleep shirt, desperate for some relief. 

It doesn’t help. She’s still too warm, skin tingling, and at the first, reluctant touch of her hand against her breast, Pippa feels sparks. 

It’s a terrible idea, but maybe, as long as she thinks of someone else, anyone else—

She slips a hand between her legs and moans. 

She wants something quick, dirty and fast and she doesn’t want to think about Hecate’s eyes or Hecate’s waist or Hecate’s lips. Doesn’t want to think about what it would be like to bury her hands in all that hair. 

It’s not that she hasn’t thought it before. Has, on more than one occasion. Even when they were fighting. Even when they were distant. 

Sometimes, Hecate was the only vision that worked. She’d be close, so close, frustrated and exhausted and she’d imagine Hecate, smiling at her. Hecate, biting her lip. Hecate, pushing one long finger inside her—

Pippa cries out, half relief and half desperation, Hecate’s name on her lips. She gives up, gives in, lets her heart run wild, lets herself pretend her hands are Hecate’s. Pretend that she’s there, kneeling between her legs. 

That she wants Pippa the way Pippa has always wanted her. 

She imagines Hecate saying her name in a whisper. Saying her name on a moan. Crying out her name as she comes under Pippa’s hands. 

She whimpers, arcs her hips off the bed and thrusts harder, keeps the image of Hecate in her mind, imagines her voice, low and graveled, imagines her whispering in her ear.

She works her own fingers against her clit, throws her head back, hears the echo of the fantasy, so real. So present. She can’t stop herself from moaning, crying out, 

“Hecate, please—”

“Pippa!”

Her eyes fly open, neck snapping toward the sound and it isn’t, it can’t be, _please_ , she thinks, _oh please—_

Hecate stares at her from the other side of her mirror.

—

Pippa’s face burns.

Heat sears across her cheeks, her chest, under the collar of her robe, pulled tight over her bare body. 

On the other side of the mirror, Hecate sits ramrod straight, her eyes fixed on a point over Pippa’s shoulder, a similar flush to her cheeks and even in the dim light of Hecate’s bedroom, Pippa can tell her cheeks are scarlet. 

Her hair is down, the first time Pippa’s seen it that way since they were teenagers. She’s wearing a black robe, and her eyes are wide, and she’s beautiful. Always so beautiful, but she’s also embarrassed, and silent, horribly, painfully silent, and Pippa clutches the collar of her robe tighter.

“Hecate?”

Her voice is barely a whisper. 

Hecate’s eyes flicker to her, then away, and Pippa tries to swallow the lump in her throat.

“Please say something.”

Hecate’s jaw moves, but for a long moment, there’s nothing. Then, stiffly, “What would you like me to say?”

Pippa blinks back the terrified, frustrated tears in her eyes. 

“Tell me you’re angry. That you’re okay. That you never want to speak to me again, I—please just say something.”

Hecate blinks, licks her lips, and Pippa tries not to shiver, tries not to stare, but her skin is still on fire, images in her mind’s eye of Hecate so much closer. 

“Why?”

Pippa swallows. She should have expected that. Should have known Hecate would require an explanation. Require words for the situation they’ve found themselves in. 

She doesn’t know what to say. How to make this better, make it right. How to erase the look of mild alarm from Hecate’s face. 

“I—it was an accident. I never meant to call you.”

Hecate purses her lips. “I’m aware of that.”

Pippa’s eyes sting. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

Shouldn’t have, but did. Has, so many times but this time she was too loud, too desperate, and the mirror called. The mirror called, and Hecate answered. 

Saw.

Heard.

Everything, Pippa thinks, before she caught Hecate’s startled gasp and sat up, snatched her robe, begged her not to cut the line. Begged her to stay. 

“That wasn’t my question.”

Her voice is low, sharp, but lacks anger. Lacks any identifiable emotion at all, and Pippa’s chest tightens. 

“Because I—”

_Love you._

“I want you,” she says. 

Hecate meets her gaze, seems surprised, bewildered, almost. 

She stares, and says nothing, and Pippa’s heart pounds. It’s the same look she wore earlier, in the courtyard, her hands on Pippa’s arms, their faces so close together. The same look she wore later, after she kissed Pippa’s cheek. 

Pippa doesn’t know what it means, but even her ears are hot with shame and embarrassment and still, desire. 

“Is it—” Hecate starts, stops, goes silent for another minute, maybe more. “Is it strictly...” Her mouth moves over the word several times before she manages to voice it. “Sexual?”

She wants to say yes. Say yes, and lie, and save her heart. 

Hecate’s expression is unreadable, yet familiar. Looks so similar to the first time they were really alone, the first time she gathered enough courage to ask why she left. 

She was brave, then. Could be brave now. 

Biting her lip, Pippa shakes her head. “No. It isn’t.”

Hecate frowns, and Pippa feels like screaming. Like crying. Like hiding away. 

“I’ve always wanted you,” she says. “As my best friend, my partner, my—” She falters. “As whatever you’re willing to be to me.”

Hecate stares, and says nothing, and Pippa feels her attempt at calm fraying at the edges. 

“Hiccup—”

Hecate’s eyes widen at the name, and Pippa panics, feels like she shouldn’t use it, has no right, not anymore. 

“Hecate—”

The mirror goes dark. 

Pippa stares at her own reflection, feels tears building behind her eyes as she struggles not to let them fall. It’s no use. Her chest aches, a pull so tight, and she can’t remember anything hurting quite this badly. Not even the first time Hecate left, which was mired in confusion. This time, she knows exactly why—Hecate doesn’t want her, has never wanted her, and it pulls and pulls and pulls and snaps and she presses her hand over her heart, feels like it’s forcing its way out from under her skin. Feels like her ribs are collapsing, lungs too full or not full enough and her eyes burn. 

She can’t stop the sob that rips from her throat, covers her mouth with her other hand.

Hecate doesn’t want her.

Doesn’t love her.

May never speak to her again. 

She’s lost her all over again, but this time has a finality to it, a crushing weight and her stomach heaves, shoulders shaking with the force of trying to keep quiet, to keep everything inside. 

She should have kept it inside.

Should have lied.

Should have done anything but tell the truth. She should have known it would be too much for Hecate, too much too soon and there’s no one to blame but herself. 

Curling her fingers around her robe, she feels naked, feels vulnerable, wants to wrap herself in clothes and blankets and hide from her own body, her own desires and shame and treacherous hands. 

She shouldn’t have wanted so much. Shouldn’t have reached for it, greedy, stupid—

“Pippa.”

She squeezes her eyes shut against the sound. 

“Pippa.”

It’s louder, closer. Soothing, in a way Hecate’s voice so rarely is. Tears streak down her cheeks, her neck. 

“Pipsqueak.”

It’s whispered, but cracked, sounds too real, and Pippa jerks her eyes open, stands and whirls around to find Hecate standing behind her, half in shadow.

“What—”

“Did you mean it?”

Pippa blinks, swipes her hand over face and sniffs, still not entirely convinced she isn’t dreaming. 

Hecate stares at her, her eyes wide, wider than Pippa has ever seen, and something hopeful in them. Something deep and frightened. 

Reaching out, Pippa tentatively touches Hecate’s arm, surprised almost to feel it warm and solid. 

She swallows down her nerves enough to say, “Mean what?”

Hecate doesn’t speak for a long moment, stares, almost unblinking, face pale in the dark room, the only light the moon through the window. 

“That you want—” Her voice breaks, and she looks down at her hands. “Me.”

She feels a flash of anger—how dare she come here, how dare she demand—and then Hecate looks up, and Pippa can see everything. The hope. The desire. The sheer terror she feels, reflected back at her. 

Her anger dies, snuffed out in the wake of Hecate’s silent pleading, the insecurity Pippa can see so clearly on her face.

Part of her wants to hide her heart, to protect what’s left of it. But if there’s even a chance, however small, that Hecate is here because she feels the same, wants the same—

Pippa takes a sharp breath. 

“Yes.”

Hecate’s eyes go glassy and her hand trembles as she reaches out, pausing with her fingers so close to Pippa’s cheek. 

“May I—?”

Pippa nods, holding her breath, somehow unprepared for the cold press of Hecate’s palm, the brush of her thumb. It makes her eyes sting, and she closes them, feels a tear slip down her cheek. 

Feels Hecate brush it away. 

“Hiccup,” she says, doesn’t know what else to say but it doesn’t matter. Hecate leans forward and kisses her, a barely-there brush of her lips and Pippa can’t stop her small gasp, can’t help leaning forward. She’s too stunned to move, to breathe, feels her heart pick up speed against her wrist and under her jaw, so close to where Hecate’s hand is still pressed to her skin, so soft. Everything soft and light, Hecate’s breath against her lips like a breeze, and she finds herself reaching out, curling her hand over Hecate’s arm, gripping the fabric of her dressing robe. 

Hecate draws her closer, a hand on her lower back, but her kiss doesn’t change, doesn’t intensify, and Pippa nearly whimpers. 

She wants more. 

Wants everything Hecate wants to give. But she still doesn’t know. What this is. What it will be. 

She opens her eyes and leans back, just enough to see Hecate’s face. 

Her eyes are bright, a slight sheen over them, tears gathered in the corners that she refuses to let fall. She isn’t smiling, not quite, but her face is relaxed, her expression warm and open. 

She brushes her thumb over Pippa’s cheek. “Then you have me,” she whispers, still almost too loud in the quiet dark, but so beautiful. The words, her voice thick and weighted. She leans forward slightly, her nose brushing against Pippa’s, the hand on her cheek trailing down over her neck to rest innocently on her shoulder. “All of me.”

Pippa shudders, curls her fingers into Hecate’s robe. “I—” she starts, tries, doesn’t know what to say if she could say anything at all. A thousand questions burn under her skin—when and why and how long—but when Hecate pulls away, meets her gaze, Pippa sees the answers there. 

Sees _always_ and _forever._

It’s enough.

More than enough, and without thinking, she curls her hand around the back of Hecate’s neck, pulls her down and kisses her like she’s always wanted to, the way she’s imagined a thousand times. Open mouthed, she licks along Hecate’s bottom lip, feels her shudder; feels her closer, their breasts pushed together in a way that makes Pippa moan softly, the sound swallowed by Hecate’s lips over hers, by their heavy breathing. 

She kisses her until she can’t see straight, can’t think about anything at all and then keeps kissing her, again, and again, still languid and long and unbearably soft. 

Everything about Hecate is sharp and edged but here she’s delicate. Whimpers slightly, trembles, and Pippa’s hands begin to wander, sliding up and down her sides, over her back, her shoulders, her arms. 

The leather is warm, warmer than it should be, and for the first time it registers that Hecate transferred here, and Pippa pulls back abruptly.

“Are you alright? The transference—”

“I’m fine,” she promises, hands settling on Pippa’s hips. 

“That distance is dangerous. Are you sure you—”

Hecate kisses her quiet, and Pippa closes her eyes, arches closer, lets her hands brush the edges of Hecate’s hair. It’s a long kiss, slow and soft and when she pulls back Hecate’s breathing heavily, her lips slightly red. 

“You can’t do that every time I start to say something you don’t like,” Pippa manages, a bit breathless. 

Hecate’s lips lift in a tentative smirk. “I didn’t hear you complain.” 

“Novelty,” Pippa says, though she doesn’t mean it in the slightest. “Try me tomorrow.” She pauses, bites her lip, feels her voice tremble when she asks, “You—you will be here tomorrow? I mean, you don’t have to stay—are you? Staying? I—”

Hecate kisses her briefly, and Pippa huffs. “Hecate—”

“Yes,” she whispers. “I left a message for Ada, and I can call her in the morning if…if that’s what you want. If you’d rather I go—”

“ _No,_ ” Pippa says hastily, too quick, too urgent, her hands tightening over Hecate’s arms. “I want you to stay,” she says, and thinks of last time, of the night before Hecate left, before she stopped speaking to her. Thinks, sometimes, if she’d noticed that something was wrong, if she’d said something. If she’d begged. “Please, stay.”

Hecate nods, solemn, like she knows what Pippa’s thinking. As if she remembers the same moment, has the same regrets. 

“I’ll stay,” she says, and Pippa exhales, feels lighter for the words, feels relieved, and excited, and nervous, and she pulls Hecate closer, kisses her again, lets her fingers tangle in Hecate’s hair the way she’s always wanted to. 

Hecate slips her arms around Pippa’s waist and holds her close, sweeps her hand up and down Pippa’s back. 

But her shoulders are still tense, her spine still rigid, even as her lips are soft and her hands are gentle. 

Pippa pulls back again, doesn’t quite know what to say, isn’t certain what reassurance Hecate needs. 

“We don’t—we don’t have to do anything,” she says, and Hecate’s cheeks flush. “We can talk, or sleep, or…” She trails off, uncertain. 

Hecate doesn’t answer right away, her eyes steady on Pippa’s face, her expression unreadable. Her gaze flickers away, her jaw twitching, and Pippa’s about to step back, to give her space when she speaks, her voice low, a false bravado that trembles slightly at the edges. 

“I…interrupted you,” she says, her eyes meeting Pippa’s bravely, uncertainly. “It seems only fair I should…help.” 

It’s stilted and awkward but Pippa doesn’t care, is fairly certain she’s never heard anything quite so erotic in her life. She inhales sharply, desire a jolt down her spine. Hecate watches her avidly, but Pippa can’t speak, can’t form words so she cups her hand around the back of Hecate’s neck and kisses her fiercely, opened mouthed and a bit wild. 

“Yes,” she finally manages. “If that’s what you want, I— _yes._ ”

Hecate’s hands fall to the tie in Pippa’s robe, and she looks up, still questioning.

Pippa nods, and Hecate slips her fingers through the belt, pulls it loose, lets the robe fall open. Pippa feels the cold air on her skin, but it’s nothing compared to the weight of Hecate’s stare, the way she trails her fingers, so light, from her clavicle, down between her breasts, over her stomach, then falls away. 

She takes a step back, and waits, and Pippa slowly shrugs out of her robe, lets it fall to the floor behind her. Lets Hecate stare. 

There’s only the moonlight, but Hecate’s eyes are nearly black, travel over Pippa’s form so slowly, from her shoulders to her breasts, her abdomen, thighs, between her legs, back up, again, and again, like she can’t get enough. Like if she blinks the moment will break. 

Hecate steps forward, hesitates, then raises a trembling hand to Pippa’s shoulder. Settles there for a moment, then begins to move, tracing fingers feather light over her collarbone, her arm, then to her breasts, across, and around. She brushes her thumb over Pippa’s nipple, and her whole body shudders. Pippa closes her eyes, head tilted back, feels Hecate settle her other hand on her hip to keep her steady. 

“Please,” Pippa whispers, though she doesn’t quite know what she’s asking for.

But Hecate kisses her, and she feels warm, feels safe, feels Hecate’s nails scratch gently up her spine, and she wants that sensation everywhere. Wants Hecate everywhere. Wants to feel her skin against her own. 

She moves her hands to the tie of Hecate’s robe, but Hecate stops her, covers her hands with her own and gently lifts them to her lips, kisses Pippa’s knuckles. Pippa frowns, but Hecate shakes her head slightly, backs Pippa up until her knees hit the bed, until she’s laid out across the mattress, head on the pillows and Hecate hovering over her. The leather of her robe brushes against Pippa’s breasts and she shudders, feels Hecate’s hair tickle her sides, her shoulders. 

Hecate’s face is mostly in shadow, her gaze intense, but her hand is soft against Pippa’s hip, her lips gentle as she coaxes Pippa’s mouth open again, kisses her languidly, like there’s all the time in the world. Like Pippa isn’t starved for her touch, like she isn’t arching into Hecate’s hand, isn’t moaning. 

Hecate’s lips move over her jaw, down her neck, across her shoulder, and Pippa feels the ghost of a smile against her skin when she shivers. 

“Hecate.”

She doesn’t answer, not verbally, but her hand slides down Pippa’s side, over her hip, her thigh, and back up. She holds herself up with the other hand, moving only as her mouth works its way down, over her breasts, across her stomach. 

When she’s settled between Pippa’s thighs, she lets one hand drift, cupping Pippa’s breast, trailing her fingernails lightly over her stomach, repeating the motion and again and again while her other hand moves over her thigh in patterns. 

It takes Pippa a long while, too long, to understand the word being carefully drawn onto her skin. 

_Love._

She catches Hecate’s gaze, sees the uncertainty, the longing, the truth in the inscription, and the apology.

Pippa inhales sharply, and suddenly she knows, suddenly understands. 

The answer to her question, reflected so clearly in Hecate’s eyes. 

This is why she left. Why she ran. 

It wasn’t hate or boredom or disinterest, wasn’t any of the things Pippa has told herself over the years. 

It was fear. Fear, and love, and Pippa grabs Hecate’s  hand, draws her up until she can reach her mouth, curl her hand around the back of Hecate’s head and kiss her desperately. It’s urgent and hot and Pippa sweeps her tongue against Hecate’s, doesn’t bother breathing, doesn’t need to breathe with Hecate’s weight pressed against her, Hecate’s hand still on her breast, thumb circling her nipple. She arches into her, the smooth leather against her skin everywhere except the ankles, where she can feel the cold skin of Hecate’s calves. 

She wants to know if she’s cold everywhere.

Wants to warm her up. 

But Hecate moves before she can, ducking her head to kiss a line down Pippa’s throat. She licks at her breast, sucks gently, everywhere, one hand possessive over her ribs and the other sliding between her legs, tracing circles on the inside of her thigh, so close to where Pippa wants her. 

Pippa doesn’t know how long she stays there. Doesn’t know how long she goes back and forth between her breasts, doesn’t know how long her fingers skim so close and then away. Her body feels like a live wire, spikes of pleasure up her spine, goosebumps, her skin flushed and warm and yet she shivers, drags her hands through Hecate’s hair, curls her fingers against her scalp. 

“Hecate, please.”

Hecate stills, and Pippa freezes, feels a rush of dread at the involuntary words, in the same voice, breathless and pleading. Thinks of her own hand, where Hecate’s is now. How close she was then, how close she is now, and she wonders for a moment if it’s all been a dream. If she’ll start awake any moment now. 

If she’s inadvertently turned it into a nightmare. 

Hecate stares at her, her cheeks slightly pink, and Pippa knows they’re thinking about the same thing. 

“Hecate, I—”

Hecate shakes her head, her hair falling over Pippa’s hips, and she tries not to shiver. 

“I’m sorry,” she manages finally. “I shouldn’t have—”

Hecate presses a kiss to her sternum. “Then neither should I.”

Pippa blinks, doesn’t quite understand until Hecate looks up at her, a bit worried, a bit bashful, utterly beautiful. 

“You—” Pippa swallows. “You thought of me?”

Hecate shifts slightly, rests her chin on Pippa’s stomach and gazes up at her, finger tracing lazy patterns over Pippa’s breast. She holds her gaze for a moment before looking away, before she admits, so quiet,

“It was always you.”

Pippa doesn’t know exactly what she means—doesn’t know if it was thoughts of love or lust, thoughts of the future, of the past—but it doesn’t matter, not with Hecate looking up at her with lidded eyes, the whisper of breath against her skin as she starts to say something else, then stalls. 

Pippa doesn’t mind. Knows Hecate has shown more and given more tonight than she probably has in decades, if not longer. She won’t push, doesn’t want to push, doesn’t want anything Hecate doesn’t want, and she tells her as much. Murmurs it to her as she cards a hand through her hair, feels Hecate lean into the touch. 

She hums, a slight smile on her lips that she presses to Pippa’s chest. 

“And if I want everything?”

Pippa feels her own smile threaten her cheeks. “Then it’s yours,” she whispers. “I’m yours.”

“Mine,” Hecate murmurs, like an incantation, and Pippa feels rapt, feels Hecate’s magic just under her skin, just for a moment. 

Feels claimed. 

“Mine,” Hecate says again, voice muffled by the kisses she places on Pippa’s abdomen, her thigh, her hip.

It’s too much and not enough and then Hecate takes her hand, guides it between her own legs. 

She’s still wet from earlier, even more so now, lips slick and swollen, everything amplified by the mere fact that Hecate’s hand is covering hers, that she feels what Pippa feels. That her touch is just behind, an echo of where Pippa touches herself. 

Pippa gasps, trembles, looks at Hecate uncertainly. 

Hecate almost smiles, kisses her stomach. “Show me,” she whispers, part request, part question, apprehensive and bold and she knows Hecate isn’t as confident as she’s trying to be, and Pippa loves her for it. Loves her for trying. Loves her for asking. For wanting. 

She nods, and moves her hand slowly, wide circles at first, Hecate’s fingers over her own. 

It’s hard to breathe, the arousal and pleasure coursing through her, but more so she thinks, under Hecate’s stare. She isn’t watching their hands, she’s staring intently at Pippa’s face, holding her gaze, eyes dark and almost unblinking.

Pippa feels more exposed, more naked than she ever has in her life, but safe. So, so safe, and protected, and worshipped, and it isn’t long before the circles her fingers make grow tighter and tighter around her clit. 

She wants to keep her eyes open, wants to see Hecate, wants to feel that gaze on her when she comes. But her eyes flicker shut, and she can’t open them, lets herself tilt her head back in abandon. 

It isn’t quite enough, and she crooks her fingers, sliding them inside herself, arching off the bed when Hecate doesn’t follow, keeps up the small circles around her clit, occasionally flicking over it, and she knows she’s saying something, thinks it’s Hecate’s name, over and over amid the gasps. 

“Pippa.”

Pippa whines at the sound, low and unbearably sweet. 

She opens her eyes, sees Hecate’s dark stare, feels Hecate’s fingers against her, feels their hands brush together, and she comes, feels Hecate watch her through it all, fingers slowly easing off, never stopping entirely until Pippa pulls her own hand away, curling her fingers into the sheets. 

She’s barely come back to herself, barely opened her eyes when Hecate presses a kiss to her center, nuzzling at her curls. 

“You—you don’t have to do that.”

Hecate draws back and meets her gaze. “Do you want me to?”

Pips swallows, tries not to think of all the times she’s imagined this exact moment: Hecate between her thighs, her hair fanned out around her. Hecate’s mouth on her, Hecate’s tongue inside her. 

“I— Yes,” she admits. “But you—”

Hecate ignores the rest, lowering her head, tracing a line from Pippa’s center to her clit with her tongue and Pippa moans, a bit too loud. Without looking up, Hecate waves a hand, and Pippa feels her magic encase the room in a silencing spell. 

It’s permission, freely given, to be as vocal as she wants, and just the thought makes her ache. 

Hecate seems to know, because she smirks, just before she swirls her tongue around Pippa’s clit. 

Pippa whimpers, claws at the sheets as Hecate builds her back up, slow swipes and quick flicks. She focuses all her attention on Pippa’s clit for what feels like hours, then moves away, forces her to settle, then moves back. 

There’s sweat on the back of Pippa’s neck and in the crease of her forearm and along her hairline. She feels like she’s floating, yet grounded in every touch, relaxed, and yet the pleasure arcs along her spine. 

She isn’t above begging, and doesn’t quite know what words tumble out of her mouth. 

Hecate relents, slips her tongue inside and a hand between them to rub at her clit and Pippa feels like she’s breaking open, split in two but it’s all light, all fresh air and wonder and she can’t keep her hands out of Hecate’s hair, pressing her closer, deeper until she cracks, spilling over the edge again. 

Hecate brings her down gently, lapping at her skin until she can’t take any more, and guides her away. Hecate kisses her way up Pippa’s thigh, her stomach, her neck, her jaw. 

She doesn’t kiss her mouth, just her cheek, and Pippa melts at the gesture, sweet and innocent, even after everything. She cups Hecate’s cheek in her palm, tilts her head down and kisses her fervently, open mouthed and eager and Hecate sinks into her, a gentle hand on Pippa’s shoulder. 

Pippa sighs, boneless and bright. 

She reaches for Hecate’s hip to draw her closer, frowning when her fingers brush fabric instead of skin. 

She’d forgotten Hecate is still clothed, forgotten her need for more contact; it returns full force, a needy ache building in her stomach for _more_. 

She sits up, pulling Hecate with her, running her hands over Hecate’s arms, feels the soft leather beneath her palms. 

“Are you—” she starts, stops, meets Hecate’s gaze. “Do you want to take this off?” 

Hecate looks down at herself, fiddles with the sleeves of her robe for a moment before catching herself. 

“I—” She stops, clears her throat. “I’m not expecting—”

Pippa kisses her quiet. 

“It’s not about expectation,” she says. “It’s about what you _want._ ”

Hecate reaches out, trailing a finger over Pippa’s bare shoulder, almost absently. Pippa tries not to shiver, tries not to get distracted by the touch. She watches Hecate’s face, notes the way she lowers her chin, her eyes. The way she hesitates, as if torn between what she feels she should do and what she would like to do. 

It’s a fitful realization, that Hecate has probably rarely if ever been allowed to choose the latter. Never been asked the simplest question: 

“What do you want, darling?” 

Hecate’s eyes flicker to hers in surprise, and Pippa knows she was right. 

She tries again to say something, but her words stall, and she looks frustrated with herself, brow furrowed and the lines back around her eyes. 

Pippa crooks a finger under her chin and lifts Hecate’s eyes to hers. 

“Anything,” she promises. “You can have anything.” 

Hecate stares. Blinks. Shudders. Then lurches forward, her mouth on Pippa’s, one hand on her ribs. Pippa kisses back, curls her hand over Hecate’s bicep and she wishes it were skin, wishes they were closer still, but she won’t push. Not this, not now, not ever. 

And then Hecate takes her hand, guides it to the tie in her robe, and Pippa smiles against her lips, presses a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth. She means to go back to kissing her, but she gets distracted by pressing tiny kisses to her cheek, her jaw, her nose, her eyelids. 

Hecate’s lips quirk even as her face flushes, and Pippa smiles against her skin, smiles as she unknots the robe, smiles as she slowly, carefully, pushes it from Hecate’s shoulders. 

She’s wearing pyjamas beneath it, as expected—long sleeved, high collared, black in the darkness. There are buttons down the front of the shirt, from the collar to the bottom, and Pippa rests her hands softly at the base of her neck, a question. 

Hecate nods, a whispered _yes_ against Pippa’s lips that she feels more than hears, and Pippa pushes gently, easing Hecate down onto her back. She magics away her dressing gown, sends it to the wardrobe for now, and if Hecate notices, she doesn’t complain. Her eyes are closed, breathing ragged, and Pippa slides a leg over her hips, straddling her, careful to keep some weight on her knees while her fingers deftly undo the first button. 

It’s followed by the second, the third, the fourth, and with each new sliver of skin exposed, Pippa kisses it, from her neck down her chest, between her breasts, over her stomach, mimicking the way Hecate had touched her, what feels like hours ago. 

Hecate makes little noise, just her shaky exhales and the hitches in her breathing when Pippa’s lips press somewhere particularly sensitive. 

Pippa looks up when she’s finished with the buttons, thumbs tucked under the fabric. “Do you want me to take this off?” 

There’s still a moment of hesitation, but it’s over quickly, and Hecate nods, sits up and lets Pippa pull the sleeves down her arms, tug the garment away. Pippa doesn’t care where it lands, only cares about lowering Hecate back against the pillows, about touching her bare skin, about the way her muscles flutter beneath her hand and her hair fans out around her head. 

She’d thought she had some idea of what this moment might be like, enough to imagine it, at least; but everything she ever pictured pales in comparison.

She wants to be gentle, wants to take everything slowly, as reverently as Hecate had taken her; but Hecate’s skin is cool and soft and begging for warmth, and Pippa finds her hands everywhere, skimming over her arms, down her sides, over her shoulders. Finds her mouth on Hecate’s neck, her chest, her breasts. 

Hecate whimpers, and Pippa returns to her nipple, sucking it lightly, trying to elicit that sound again. It’s the slightest scrape of her teeth that draws it out, makes Hecate shudder, so Pippa does it again, and again, and again. 

She wonders if there’s a way to bottle that sound, to keep it with her—to save this moment in a capsule, so she’ll never forget a single moment of it. Hecate’s hips are making tiny circles beneath her, but it isn’t enough, not yet. 

She wants to see Hecate come undone. 

Wants to see her lose control. 

Wants, just once, for her to let go, to feel as good as Hecate made her feel. To feel as treasured. 

“P—Pippa.”

Her name is almost a whine, and Pippa leans up and kisses her sweetly. “I’ll take care of you,” she promises, and Hecate shudders at the words, or her tone, or the whisper of Pippa’s breath across her cheek. “I want to take care of you.” 

She’s certain it’s her words, this time, that make Hecate whimper, make her close her eyes and inhale sharply. 

She doesn’t want to think about how long it’s been since someone’s made that promise. Since someone has offered. 

How long it’s been since Hecate felt safe and wanted. 

She kisses her again, runs her hand down Hecate’s side soothingly, until she relaxes completely into the touch. Only then does Pippa move lower, presses kiss after kiss to Hecate’s skin, and thinks about marking her. About leaving bites and bruises that remind her that she’s _Pippa’s_ , only Pippa’s. 

But that can wait. 

Next time, she thinks, and knows that there will be a next time. 

Instead, she continues her way down Hecate’s stomach, stops at the waistband of her pyjama trousers, kisses her hips, her belly button. Hecate watches her through lidded eyes, breathing quiet but heavy. 

“Can I—”

“Yes.”

Pippa smiles, does little more than curl her fingers and Hecate’s remaining clothes are gone. She shivers in the sudden cold, but Pippa can’t help but stare. 

She’s always known Hecate was beautiful, softer than she lets on, kinder. But here, her pale skin against Pippa’s pink sheets, the moonlight playing with shadows on her body, she thinks that beautiful doesn’t come close. She’s beyond that, and Pippa feels her heart catch, knows how few Hecate lets this close, can hardly believe she’s one of them. 

The one Hecate wants. 

Hecate shifts, her eyes flickering to Pippa and then away, embarrassed, or insecure, Pippa doesn’t know, but she doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want Hecate to feel anything but loved. Cherished. Adored. 

Maneuvering as carefully as she can, Pippa settles herself between Hecate’s legs, kisses the swell of her stomach, her hip, one hand on Hecate’s leg, the other reaching for her hand. 

“Beautiful,” she whispers. 

Hecate flushes. “Pippa—”

“ _Beautiful_ ,” she insists, winding her fingers through Hecate’s, kissing her inner thigh. 

“If you say so,” Hecate says, voice dry but cracked, and Pippa nips at her skin so that she jumps. 

“I do,” she murmurs, laving at the mark with her tongue. “And I’m always right.”

Hecate arches an eyebrow even as her breathing turns sharp. “Always is quite the exaggeration.” 

Pippa ignores her, presses gently, questioningly against her thigh, smiling when Hecate lets it fall open. Pippa kisses the crease between her thighs, hears Hecate’s breath catch, feels her hips move just slightly, and she doesn’t want to wait, doesn’t want to make Hecate wait any longer.

“I’m going to touch you now. Is that alright?” 

Hecate nods, a barely audible, “Please,” falling from her lips, buried in a low moan as Pippa runs a finger along her folds, through her slickness, back and forth lazily. She avoids her clit, her entrance, keeps her touch light, her breath ghosting over Hecate’s skin. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve thought about doing this?”

Hecate’s entire body shudders, her eyes flying open at the sound of Pippa’s voice, low and soft. 

“Too long,” she admits. “In the last year, especially. I thought about what you might feel like. What you’d taste like.” 

Hecate slams her eyes shut, takes a halting breath, her thigh trembling next to Pippa’s cheek. 

“Do you want me to stop talking?” 

It takes her a moment, but eventually Hecate looks down, manages a hoarse, “No.” 

Pippa rubs her free hand over her stomach, her other still occupied between Hecate’s legs. 

“I wanted to take you to bed right after the Spelling Bee,” she says, slipping her finger in a wide circle around Hecate’s clit. “I wanted to make you come undone.” 

Hecate shivers, hips arching up, and Pippa presses down, keeps her hips in place. 

“I still want that, but it’s different now,” she murmurs, narrowing the circles, tighter and tighter, making note of where Hecate bucks her hips, where she shivers, when she flinches away. “I want you to feel wanted.” She presses a kiss to Hecate’s stomach, then lower. “Cherished.” Lower. “Adored.” 

She kisses Hecate’s clit, flicks over it with her tongue. “Do you?” 

Hecate doesn’t answer, and Pippa inches lower, pressing Hecate’s leg open wider. She presses the flat of her tongue against Hecate’s clit, holds her down as her back arches. 

“Do you? Feel adored?”

Hecate nearly whines. “Pippa…please.” 

Pippa relents, just a murmured, “Tell me if you want me to stop,” before she lifts Hecate’s leg over her shoulder and presses in close, presses her tongue inside her. She takes her time, slow thrusts followed by the occasional lick over her clit, and she follows the roll of Hecate’s hips.

Hecate’s breathing becomes ragged, seems loud in the otherwise silent room, and Pippa chases the sound, wants it louder, harsher. She shifts, pausing for a moment to slide her hand up, breaking Hecate’s fitful whine with the press of a finger inside her. 

Hecate breathes her name, and Pippa slips a second finger inside, returns her attention to her clit, fast and then slow, fast and then slow, bringing her up to the peak, but she refuses to let her fall. Not yet. 

“Thought about this for so long,” she says again, breaking away just enough to say the words. “And you’re perfect,” she murmurs. “My beautiful Hecate.”

“Please, don’t—” Hecate whispers, reaching for some part of Pippa to hold onto. 

Pippa slows her movements, waits patiently. “Don’t what, darling?”

Hecate’s cheeks flush, but she still manages, almost desperately, “Don’t stop talking.” 

Pippa kisses her thigh, picks up the pace with her fingers again. “I won’t,” she promises, feels Hecate relax marginally, until her thumb flicks over Hecate’s clit, and her back bows. 

“I’d do anything for you,” she murmurs. “Follow you anywhere.” 

Hecate grips her shoulder, fingers brushing the ends of Pippa’s hair, but she doesn’t pull. Pippa’s eyes sting. 

“I’ve loved you for so long,” she whispers, almost hopes Hecate doesn’t hear her. But her hips stutter and she gasps, and Pippa presses up firmly inside her, curls her fingers, drags her thumb over her clit. 

“ _Pippa._ ”

“Is that what you need to hear, darling? That I love you?”

Hecate’s hips cant up again, her whole body trembling, and Pippa works her hand faster, her thumb harder. “I do,” she whispers, finds the words easily. “I always have. Since we were young.”

Hecate lets out a soft cry, and Pippa presses a reassuring kiss to her stomach. 

“I always will.”

“Pippa—”

Shifting upwards, Pippa keeps her fingers working a steady rhythm, and swipes her tongue over Hecate’s nipple. 

“Love you,” she says against her breast. “I love you.” Gently, she scrapes her teeth against Hecate’s nipple at the same time she presses down on her clit. “I love you,” she whispers, and Hecate breaks, back arching off the bed, mouth open in a wordless, soundless cry. Her entire body is shaking, and Pippa moves even higher, peppering her face with kisses, slowing the touch between her legs, avoiding any kind of direct contact. 

Still, Hecate shudders away, and Pippa withdraws entirely, rests her hand on Hecate’s thigh, feels the muscle jumping beneath her palm. 

She keeps talking, endearments and promises and meanwhile, runs her other hand through Hecate’s hair. She holds her close, Hecate half-pillowed against her until she comes back to herself, still breathing hard but able to open her eyes. They’re wet and glassy, pupils blown wide, and she looks like she might cry. 

Pippa _feels_ like she might cry, but it’s the good kind of weeping. 

“I love you,” she says again, just to be sure, just so Hecate knows it wasn’t for lust. 

Hecate swallows tightly. “I…” She struggles, and when she speaks, the words feel forced, but Pippa knows they aren’t. Knows, can see it in Hecate’s eyes, that she means it. “Love you, too.”

Pippa knows that. Has known from the first kiss, the first touch, but hearing the words, Hecate’s graveled voice, the tremor there, is different. It fills her up, makes her chest expand and her throat ache and she moves forward, pauses. “Can I kiss you?”

It doesn’t bother her, but it might bother Hecate, tasting herself; but Hecate merely nods, trails her fingers down Pippa’s spine, pliant beneath her, returns her kiss with her other hand threaded in Pippa’s hair. 

Pippa’s stomach tightens and she shifts, seeks friction, finds it in the press of her core against Hecate’s thigh. She moans, rocks helplessly, feels Hecate tense her leg, feels a hand on her breast, gently squeezing. 

“Hiccup.”

“It’s alright,” Hecate murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

Pippa shudders—at the words, at Hecate’s soft tone, at the look in her eyes, so open, so full of love and desire. 

Desire she’ll set aside for Pippa, every time, and Pippa doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want to begin this new, terrifying, wonderful thing between them with a sacrifice. 

Forcing herself to pause, she sits back, pulls Hecate with her until they’re both kneeling. Hecate watches her, almost curious, and Pippa shifts until she’s straddling Hecate’s thigh again, until her own thigh is pressed between Hecate’s legs, and she gasps. 

They’re close, so close, breasts pushed together, and Pippa wraps her arms around Hecate’s neck, presses their foreheads together. 

“Is this okay?”

Hecate nods, her hands drifting over Pippa’s shoulders, her back, her sides. 

She hits a particularly sensitive spot on Pippa’s ribs, and Pippa rocks forward, buries her face in Hecate’s neck. It’s not quite enough, not yet, but it’s good, so good, to feel so much of Hecate pressed against her, her skin now warm and flushed everywhere. Pippa continues to move, trails kisses down Hecate’s shoulder, nips at her skin, feels her shiver beneath her. 

But otherwise she’s still, and Pippa looks up, notices Hecate’s eyes squeezed shut, breathing shallow, forcing herself to stay still. To stay in control.

Ignoring the strain on her lower back, Pippa shifts, tenses her thigh and presses forward, feels Hecate slick and hot against her. 

Hecate’s eyes fly open, her lips parted, and Pippa traces a finger over her bottom lip. 

“Together,” she says; doesn’t mean it as a question but it comes out slightly broken, slightly hopeful, and Hecate’s expression softens as she reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind Pippa’s ear, fingers lingering. 

“Together,” she promises. 

Pippa smiles, and kisses her, and slowly begins to rock her hips again, waits for Hecate to do the same. 

“Good girl,” she whispers, lips by her ear, and Hecate shudders, buries her face in Pippa’s neck and arches forward on a gasp. 

Pippa smiles, cups her hand over the back of Hecate’s head and cards her fingers through her hair. 

Her mind goes hazy, everything narrowed to the warmth of Hecate’s skin, the rolling pleasure up and down her spine, Hecate’s hands on her back, almost clutching her close as she moves her own hips. 

“That’s it,” she murmurs, her voice trembling slightly. “You feel so good.”

Hecate’s hips stutter. 

“My perfect girl.”

Hecate shakes her head slightly even as she grinds down harder, and Pippa tries to keep her words coherent even as she gets closer and closer to the edge. 

“You are,” she insists, lifting Hecate’s chin to press kisses to her cheeks, her forehead. “Perfect,” she whispers. “Mine.”

Hecate’s fingers press into her hips, harsh and yet somehow gentle, mindful of her nails. 

Pippa’s heart trips at the gesture. 

“Want you to feel so special,” she says, feels her own hips begin to lose their rhythm, feels her vision start to blacken, her throat tighten, but she wants Hecate with her, wants her closer.

Slipping a hand between them, Pippa circles Hecate’s clit, and she jerks forward, gasping. 

“This is just the start,” she says, thighs trembling. “Of something new and wonderful.”

Hecate says her name, nearly a whine, and Pippa hushes her, keeps up the pressure between her legs with her fingers and thigh. 

“I know, darling,” she whispers. “I know.” And then, because she needs to see, needs to know her words have mattered, “Can you look at me?”

Hecate shivers, but raises her head, eyes dark and cheeks flushed, and Pippa kisses her briefly in reward. 

“I want to see you.”

Hecate swallows, looks a bit apprehensive but she nods, keeps her chin lifted, keeps her eyes on Pippa and she wasn’t prepared. Wanted to see Hecate with her head thrown back, wanted to lick the line of her neck, wanted to swallow her cries. 

But she hadn’t counted on Hecate’s eyes, dark and deep, staring into her own. Hadn’t counted on the intense pleasure that shoots down her spine at being watched so closely, and her movements falter, hips jerking helplessly, and she breaks, drops her head to Hecate’s chest and shudders, body tingling and warm. 

Hecate soothes her with a hand through her hair, on her waist, and Pippa huffs at herself. 

When she looks up, Hecate is smiling crookedly, fondly, doesn’t seem to care that Pippa’s hand is still between her legs, that she’s stopped moving. Seems content to bring Pippa pleasure, to postpone her own, and it makes Pippa feels slightly guilty at the same time it makes her determined. 

Biting her lip, Pippa hesitates, then presses Hecate back into the mattress, lets their legs spread out, muscles she knows will be sore tomorrow flexing and resettling in a tangle of limbs. 

Hecate goes willingly, easily, kisses Pippa lazily; but Pippa knows her body is still humming, still desire there, and Pippa summons a thin, black wand from her bedside drawer. 

“Would this be okay?”

Hecate blinks, her cheeks going scarlet even in the dim light. “I—there’s no need—”

Pippa shakes her head. “It’s about what you want, remember?”

Hecate stills, and for a moment, Pippa thinks maybe it’s too much. Too much too fast and she’s about to back off, back away, when Hecate slowly licks her lips and nods.

“Yes?” Pippa asks.

“I—” Hecate falters, lips moving without sound, and she has to close her eyes before she manages to say, “Please.”

Pippa’s heart splits and she moves, leans down, captures Hecate’s mouth with her own, slides a hand up her stomach to her breast. 

She wonders how many times Hecate has asked for affection and been denied. How many people have turned her away, to make her think Pippa would do the same. 

Dragging her lips from Hecate’s mouth to her jaw, Pippa works her way down, little nips here and there she soothes with her tongue, and by the time she slips a hand between her legs, Hecate is wet and writhing. 

She slips one finger inside her, then two, just to be sure, and Hecate whines when she withdraws, then gasps at the feel of the vibrator, trailed gently over her clit down to her entrance. 

“Okay?”

Hecate nods, and Pippa slips the toy inside her. It’s fairly thin, easy enough to handle, but it’s long and the end is slightly curved and Pippa presses it in deep, pulls out, presses deep. 

Hecate squirms, then inhales sharply when Pippa flicks the vibration on the lowest setting.

“ _Oh._ ”

Pippa smirks. “We can do better than that,” she says, turns it up, presses in harder and faster. 

Hecate’s hips begin to follow her movements, and she throws one arm across her stomach to keep her still. Keeps the slight twisting motion to her wrist every time she thrusts. 

Hecate whimpers but it’s still quiet, and Pippa kisses her stomach, the underside of her breast. “I want to hear you,” she says, pressing her nose to her skin. “Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

Hecate’s hips stutter at the endearment, and Pippa presses down to keep her in place. She turns the settings up again, watches the sweat break out across Hecate’s brow, sees her skin pebble and her muscles tremble.

“I—I don’t—”

Pippa hushes her softly. “It’s okay if you can’t, or you don’t want to. But it’s just us here. It’s just me. You’re safe here.” She twists her hand and Hecate’s toes curl. “You’re mine.”

As badly as she wants to see Hecate’s face, wants to see her eyes shut and her lips part when she comes, Pippa can tell she’s close, so close, and slips down, kisses her clit without warning. 

Hecate almost shouts, a hoarse sound that dies in her throat, but Pippa feels pleased, smirks against her as she tongues at her clit, keeps up the motion inside her even as her wrist starts to cramp. She follows the snap of Hecate’s hips, doesn’t push her down, just ratchets the vibrator up another level and sucks at her clit and Hecate comes, leg spasming near Pippa’s cheek, back arched and Pippa doesn’t stop this time, doesn’t let her come down. She waits a moment, then resumes the same brutal pace, licks around her clit over and over until she’s trembling, nearly begging. 

“Pippa. Please—”

“The last time I used this I thought of you,” she murmurs, almost idly, twisting the wand inside her. Hecate’s breathing shudders—at her voice, at the image, Pippa doesn’t know. Isn’t sure it matters. Not when Hecate’s so close, teetering on the edge. “I thought of doing exactly this.” She lets her breath ghost over Hecate’s skin. “I thought about making you scream.”  


Pippa scrapes her teeth over Hecate’s clit and she comes again, a louder whimper falling from her lips, and Pippa’s name, half a sigh. 

“One more,” Pippa murmurs, slowing her motions to give her hand a rest. “Can you do that for me, darling?”

“I—I don’t—”

“I think you can,” she murmurs. “I think you can come for me one more time.”

Hecate cries out, hands scrambling at the sheets, and Pippa catches one of them, guides it to her hair. 

Hecate hesitates, tangling her fingers in the hair near her nape, but she doesn’t guide her, not until Pippa nudges her head into Hecate’s hand and licks from her entrance to her clit. 

Hecate’s fingers tighten so Pippa does it again, and again, and again, until Hecate grips her hair and holds her in place, so that she stays at her clit, licking and sucking and she picks up speed again, pushing the vibrator in faster.

Hecate moans, the sound half air but beautiful.

“Pippa. Pippa, please.”

“Whatever you want, darling.”

Hecate shudders. “H—harder.”

Pippa complies, kisses her clit in reward, slows her movements a bit but presses harder, longer, builds her up and up and up and when she crashes, Pippa licks her through it, removes the vibrator and slips her tongue inside, drawing out every last bit of pleasure she can until Hecate slumps, boneless against the mattress. 

“Good girl,” Pippa murmurs again, and Pippa sees a few stray tears slip into Hecate’s headline. She doesn’t comment, doesn’t think Hecate would want her to know; but she does a quick cleaning spell over the both of them, one for her mouth as well before she climbs up Hecate’s body, sprawls herself over her and kisses her deeply. 

Hecate tries to respond, she can tell, but her limbs are heavy and her kisses sweet and sloppy, and Pippa grins against her mouth. 

“Don’t be smug,” Hecate murmurs, but her lips are quirked and her eyes still closed, and she looks happy. Happier than Pippa has ever seen her, and she hopes, prays, she stays that way. 

With her. 

“Is it unbecoming of a witch?” she teases, and Hecate opens her eyes, gazes at her, expression so soft. 

“Nothing you do is unbecoming,” she whispers. 

Pippa sighs and curls around Hecate, her head pillowed on Hecate’s chest, one hand drawing lazy patterns up and down her arm. 

Hecate shivers, and Pippa magics the blanket up over them both, though she prefers Hecate’s heat. 

“You’re biased,” Pippa says finally. 

Hecate’s hand drifts into her hair.“Yes. I am.”

Pippa hides her smile against Hecate’s skin. 


End file.
